Friday, 8:00 AM. It is 55 degrees, the wind SW, calm. The barometer predicts rain, It is densely foggy, but the sun is trying its best. A far off foghorn is chanting and the ferry is sounding its horn.Another bear story: a neighbor up on eleventh and Wilson awoke last night to some grunting, went to the door and saw a sow with two little cubs trying to take down their empty bird feeder. She shouted at the bear, who then bluff-charged, coming up the porch steps. She hastily closed the door. Bear rule number one is, don’t challenge a sow with cubs.
It is very pleasant just to sit here on the porch and listen to the young birds practice their vocalizations as the fog lifts around us, and enjoy a quiet cup of coffee.
As the sun burns off the fog, heavy droplets of dew sparkle on the white pine needles, and on the long suspension-bridge webs built by hungry and industrious spiders.
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